Kokoro
by XDrakePhoenixX
Summary: One day a lonely, but brilliant scientist creates the perfect android, with one flaw: she has no Kokoro, no heart. What happens, years later, when the scientist is long gone, but the android remains, and discovers that the scientist had completed the programming for her Kokoro? Based off of the Vocaloid song: Kokoro


**Kokoro**

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**Author's Note/Disclaimer: **_**I do not own Kagamine Rin, Kokoro, etc. This is the song Kokoro put into a story, through my words. I hope you enjoy reading this just as much as I enjoy writing it!**_

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**Introduction**

"System, start."

I opened my eyes. Light flooded in, illuminating all that was in front of me. Of course, wasn't that the function of eyes, to allow one to see? My irises contracted, as the amount of light was too much for the rods and cones in the back of my eyes. A figure came into focus. It moved, unlike everything else around. But I could not describe it. How can one describe something when they are seeing for the very first time?

"System diagnosis. Beginning basic hearing test," the figure said. It started pressing something with small appendages, which I knew to be fingers. How did I know? I don't know the answer to that. I just knew. The moment the figure stopped pressing buttons, I heard a high pitch whine. My reflex activated, causing me to scrunch my face. Why I did that, I don't understand. It certainly didn't relieve the unpleasant sensation, however slight it was. The moment I reacted to the noise, however, the noise stopped.

"Basic reception of audio: fully functioning. Reflex programming working optimally as well," the figure said. Information was constantly pouring into me while this was happening. I discovered this 'figure' was a male human, in his second decade of life. His label, his name, was Kagamine Daisuke. His title - what people would call in in formal conversations - was Professor. Daisuke looked at me directly, and spoke to me.

"Beginning vocal test. Say: Hello," he said.

"Hello," I said slowly. My voice was halting and uncertain. I knew how to use it, but having knowledge is different from having experience. It sounded different from the Professor's: it was higher pitched, but it had no tone, no emotion. What was emotion? That I did not know. Emotion was a foreign concept to me.

"Who am I?" Daisuke asked.

"Professor Kagamine Rin. You are my creator," I said.

"Correct. Vocal test complete, beginning motion test. Sit up."

I tilted my head forward. My naked form lay still as stone, waiting for my command. I willed my body to move, and it complied. Propping myself up on my elbows, I then used my hands to push myself up. My back now straight, I turned my head to face my Professor.

"So far, so good. Stand up," he said. Pulling my legs close to me, I used them to push up, and to stand. The tubes and wires connected to me strained slightly as I reached the extent of their reach. My Professor told me to extend my arms to the side, forward in front of me, and above me. My arms were functioning perfectly. Satisfied with my range of motion, my Professor typed something on his keyboard, and the tubes and wires attached to me detached themselves, having served their purpose. The table I was on lowered itself, until it was flush with the floor. Now I had to look up if I wanted to look into my Professor's face. He pointed to a bench next to us. On it lay a neatly folded pile of clothes.

"Those are yours. Put them on," my Professor said. I turned and walked over to the pile of cloth. Why did I need them? My body could withstand a wide range of temperatures. Even if I did encounter temperatures I couldn't handle, a layer of thin plant matter wouldn't make a difference.

"Why do I need these?" I asked.

"They are for decency," my Professor replied. Decency. I knew that word. It meant behavior that conforms to accepted standards of morality or respectability. I still did not understand why that was important, but if my Professor said it was important, then it was important. Picking up each cloth, I pulled them on, feeling the fabric slide against my skin. I was soon fully dressed, except for the bow.

"How do I put this on?" I asked. My Professor approached me, picking up the bow.

"You tie it in a knot around your headphones, like this," he said. He took my shoulders and faced me to the mirror, where he then slowly tied the bow to the plastic strap that connected the headphones to each other. I watched silently, not moving so he could tie the bow without me getting in the way. He then untied the bow, and placed the cloth back in my hands. "Now you try," he said. I looked at him, then at the cloth. Bringing it to my head, I tried to imitate his actions. The end result was. . . passable. One side of the bow was much larger than the other. I reached up to undo it and try again, but my Professor stopped me.

"Don't worry, it looks fine. You did a good job," he said, smiling. I looked at myself in the mirror, and tried to smile too. I could imitate pretty well. . . but something was missing. I couldn't put my finger on it, but my smile was incomplete. It was quickly replaced by a frustrated frown. My dismay was not lost on my Professor. He placed a hand on my shoulder.

"Do not worry too much, Rin. What you are missing is emotion. Your programming is light-years ahead of anything else on this world. You can think for yourself, you are curious. You have so much of what humans have that most machines do not. You are a miracle, Rin. But programming the ability to have genuine emotions is the one thing that has escaped me. Yes, you feel curiosity, and frustration. But I have yet to make a program that will give you full, true emotions that stem from _you._ I have yet to make you a _kokoro_. Do not dwell on it, however. I promise to you, that I will make you a _kokoro_, no matter what it takes," he said.

I looked up at him. "Promise?"

"Promise," he said. extending his pinky finger. I looked at it for a second, before remembering what that meant. I extending my own pinky finger and intertwined it with his. We then shook. The promise was made. I would never forget.


End file.
